


Truths Spoken In Anger

by HalfshellVenus



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Episode Tag, M/M, Slash, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-12
Updated: 2012-05-12
Packaged: 2017-11-05 05:12:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfshellVenus/pseuds/HalfshellVenus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Standalone Coda to 1x06, "Skin", or Chapter 1 of an AU ending to that episode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Broken

~*~

The blanket came off just as Dean was starting to think he would suffocate.

The sewer was… wetter than he remembered when he had followed the Shapeshifter down here. The air itself was wet, although the smell was not as bad as he would have expected.

“What do you want with me?” Dean asked.

“You?” The Shapeshifter laughed. “What makes you think I’m interested in _you?_ You’re way too stuck on yourself, dude.” He set aside some rope, next to an array of knives. “I don’t want you. You’re just a tool to get what I do want. Ooh, tool—bet you’ve heard that one before.”

Dean had never realized just how annoying that smirk of his was. He felt the urge to smack that smug face. His face. Whatever. He squirmed irritably in the chair, the ropes digging into his skin.

“You see, _you_ don’t really have what I need,” the Shapeshifter went on. “I mean, yeah, the packaging is nice—I could have some fun with it. But as a victim, you leave a little something to be desired.”

Dean felt relieved at that, until he caught the evil glint to the Shapeshifter’s smile.

“Now, your brother Sammy,” the Shapeshifter said as he circled behind Dean. “He’s much more tempting. He’s still got some innocence in him, some hope. That’s gonna be one tasty soul when I get through with him.”

“Don’t you touch him!” Dean yelled. He jerked forward in the chair, only to find that it was chained to a sewer pipe. 

“Ooh, it’s so cute the way you’re so protective,” the Shapeshifter murmured into Dean’s ear. “Too bad it won’t help. I’m sure Sammy’s on his way down here to rescue you right now, and I’ll just be here waiting.” He licked up the side of Dean’s neck, as Dean jerked his head away. “No? I guess you’re not as big a narcissist as I thought. Too bad—you’re missing the opportunity of a lifetime.”

The anger in Dean’s eyes was so focused it could have split atoms. 

“That’s okay—you’re not really my type. Now your brother? Delicious.” The Shapeshifter licked his lips at Dean. “I can’t decide whether to fuck him or bleed him.”

Dean jolted forward in the chair again. “You son of a bitch! I’ll kill you!” 

“Nice try,” the Shapeshifter said. “Too bad I know all your tricks. It’s one of the perks of being you.”

He reached over to stroke up the inside of Dean’s thighs, keeping carefully off to the side. “I think you’re going to enjoy this,” he said. “I’ll let you listen in on the whole thing, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll let your brother live.” Dean snapped to attention at those last words.

“You leave Sam alone!” he spat, veins pulsing on his skin. 

“Sorry, man, no can do. Got my evening all lined up, got my equipment all ready.” The Shapeshifter waved at the table, the knives, the tarps. “The best part is, it’ll be you that Sam sees, but I’m the one who gets to have all the fun,” the Shapeshifter smiled at him. “Everything you ever wanted but were afraid to do yourself—I’ll get to do it. And when I’m done, he won’t be able to look at you again without remembering. Your smell, your touch—they’ll haunt him forever. I’ll destroy every last bit of light inside him, and leave you the shell so you can regret each other the rest of your days.” The Shapeshifter ran his hands over Dean’s chest, caressing the muscles there, as Dean jerked away from the touch. “Two for the price of one. It doesn’t get much better,” he laughed.

Dean’s head swiveled around, looking for a break, an opportunity. Nothing. Yet.

The Shapeshifter picked up some duct tape, shutting up Dean’s mouth. Then his hand came back, and the last thing Dean remembered was the sudden pain in the back of the head before everything went dark.

~*~

The fog was thicker this time, and his head was killing him, as he fought up through the darkness. The darkness lightened, but didn’t lift, and he realized he was back under a blanket again.

He could hear Sam’s voice, arguing with someone. Arguing with Dean himself, it sounded like.

“Boy, does he have issues with you,” he heard his voice say. A litany of accusations and complaints spilled forth, twisted truths that he never would have said himself. He didn’t hate Sammy for leaving. Yeah, he’d been mad at first, but mostly hurt. Four long years of hurt. That wasn’t anger. Anger would have felt better.

“You ran off and left me with Dad! You were so worried about what _you_ wanted, you didn’t give a damn about what I wanted or what anyone else wanted.” 

He could hear Sam’s responses, a little muffled at times, and was grateful that Sam knew it wasn’t him. A sharp cracking sound made Dean gasp, and he could hear the strain in Sam’s voice after that. That demon was beating up Sam, and calling his hatred Dean’s. 

He felt sick listening to it, and to the conversation that followed.

“Dean needs you, and you didn’t even care,” the Shapeshifter said.

“I know he needs me,” Sam said, “I need him too.”

“Not that kind of need. _Need,_ ” the demon said. “He wants you. He dreams of you. Was that why you left? Too afraid to give him what he wanted?”

“It’s not like that,” Sam said. “Dean’s never needed anyone that way.”

“What the fuck do you know?” the Shapeshifter yelled. “You’ve never worried about what he wants. It’s always what you want. You. Because it’s all about Sammy, it always has been.” 

Dean heard a slap that made him struggle with the chair again. The silence that followed worried him even more. Then he heard it.

“Now this… this is what Dean wants.” There was a wet sound, and rustling. 

“Don’t,” Sam’s voice said weakly.

“Oh, Sammy,” the Shapeshifter breathed menacingly. “It’s not your choice to make this time.” Dean could hear more wetness, and sounds of protest coming from Sam. They turned to whimpers, accompanied by the sound of ripping cloth. And finally, “Don’t! Don’t! Stop! Please, Dean—stop!”

Dean’s eyes stung. Sam had called the Shapeshifter by _his_ name, had begged it in terror. Those were the last words he heard from him then—only sniffles and other noises remained. After awhile, Dean heard the Shapeshifter groan, the satisfied sound all too familiar, and his heart stopped for a second. Another sound, like a punch, and then Sammy’s muffled sobs. Dean could hear the Shapeshifter’s footsteps starting to fade off. “Something to remember me by,” came the distant taunt.

He’d already inched the rope around into position by then, and was working the knots loose as fast as he could. Finally! He burst out of the chair, throwing the blanket off as he ran to Sam.

“Sammy?” he asked, leaning over to look at him. There were tears, streaks of blood, and patches of skin that were already bruising. A cut on Sam’s throat trickled red. “Sammy?” he pleaded. He reached out gently and turned Sam’s face toward him, but Sam wouldn’t meet his eyes. He swallowed past the lump in his throat, and whispered “Let’s get you out of here.”

Untying the knots was a welcome distraction, but Sam’s silence ate at Dean. He pulled the ropes off Sam, helped ease him up out of the chair, and grabbed one of the larger knives on the way out. It might not kill the Shapeshifter if they ran into it, but maybe it would slow it down.

He guided Sam toward the car, gently helping him in as if he were made of glass. He got in the other side, locking the doors, and tried again. “Sammy? Are you all right?” he asked. Sam didn’t respond, but the tears began again and he closed his eyes.

Dean inched closer. “I’m so sorry, Sammy,” he said. He put a hand on Sam’s arm, but Sam flinched at his touch. Dean reached for his hand then, squeezing Sam’s fingers as Sam cried and Dean bit his lip to keep his own sorrow from bursting forth. 

Finally, Sam pulled his hand free and wiped his face.

“It’s OK. I’m fine,” he said, pushing Dean away for the thousandth time since they’d driven away from Stanford. 

“Are you sure?” Dean whispered, peering anxiously into his face.

Sam still would not look at him. “I’m fine,” he said again. “Let’s get going.”

Reluctantly, Dean slid over behind the wheel. His stomach was so knotted he could barely breathe, but he started up the Chevy and turned toward the motel. He drove slower than usual, afraid of jarring Sam, but at last they were there. He got out, and went around to open the car door for Sam, but Sam just pushed past him and waited for Dean to let them into their room.

Sam headed for the shower immediately, the door slamming behind him, as Dean stood there in stunned silence. 

He sank down on the bed, then, unsure what to do with himself. The combination of sickness and worry paralyzed him but at the same time made him want to jump out of his skin. He sat there for awhile in a daze, thoughts churning in his head. He didn’t give a damn about Sam’s friends or their problems. He just wanted to take Sam far away from here and fix him, if he could. But he knew what a fight Sam would put up over that. He’d never abandon his friends, not when they were in danger. Stupid, stubborn loyalties.

The shower seemed to be running forever, and Dean went over to the bathroom door to check on Sam. He could hear it now, the sound of sobbing underneath the steady rhythm of the water. He rested his head against the door, his throat suddenly tight and his mouth twisting in helplessness. 

When Sam finally came out of the bathroom, he thought at first that Dean had gone out. The room was so quiet that it seemed empty. A second glance revealed Dean, sitting on one of the beds, arms locked around his knees and red-rimmed eyes staring off into space. 

Sam’s heart caught then, at the sight of Dean’s misery. He’d fallen so deep into self-loathing and remorse that he’d forgotten about how this might affect his brother. His pain was Dean’s, and the need to help and protect him was such an essential part of Dean’s nature. Knowing that the Shapeshifter had hurt Sam, wearing his own face, would surely consume Dean with guilt. 

Sam was on the bed before he realized it, clutching Dean to him and cradling his head against his shoulder. Dean leaned against him gratefully, his breathing strained. A few tears slipped out unbidden, and Sam felt like the worst brother in the world at that moment. “I’m sorry,” Dean gasped out. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t get there in time.”

Sam’s grip on him tightened. “Dean, I don’t blame you for that. You’ve always done the best you could. I know that.”

“But he hurt you,” Dean whispered tightly. “And you thought it was me.”

“No, no,” Sam said, rubbing his hand up and down Dean’s arm. “That just slipped out. I always knew he wasn’t you, Dean. You would never do that to me.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” Dean said, suddenly exhausted and overcome with relief. The tension quickly drained out of his body, and he sank against Sam, sniffling quietly and barely able to move. 

Whatever fear Sam had had of being touched, especially by Dean, was gone. He couldn’t change what had happened, but he could at least keep from torturing Dean the way he had before. He knew how persistently Dean had tried to help him since Jess died, and he had made that so much harder than Dean deserved. Pulling back, especially tonight, had been cruel. Sam had never of himself as being capable of that.

Dean lifted his head up wearily, and his hand crept up to brush Sam’s cheek as he took in the extent of the injuries. “Your face,” he groaned. It looked worse than it had in the car.

“I’ve had worse,” Sam said, trying to smile for Dean.

“Not from me,” Dean said, and looked away.

“Not you,” Sam said. “It was never you.” He grabbed Dean’s chin until their eyes met and he had his full attention. “I need to make sure you understand that.”

“Do you? Understand it?” Dean asked. His expression was bleak.

“Absolutely,” said Sam. “I never doubted it.” Dean looked unconvinced. Sam stroked his cheek with his thumb, looking at him, looking into him. He could see the sadness that had taken hold in Dean—from this, or from something else. Maybe it had been there before, and he had just never noticed it. Never wanted to be responsible for it.

He felt Dean’s pain inside him them, stronger than he’d realized, and Sam found himself leaning forward and kissing him, answering that pain with reassurance. Dean’s lips were soft, hesitant, as Sam moved gently against them. He felt wetness slip past his cheek, and pulled back to look at Dean, whose eyes were bright and spilling over. For a moment, he thought he had made the wrong choice, had hurt Dean even more, and he sat frozen in worry. But then Dean leaned toward him and kissed him back, hands gently slipping through his hair as though he was afraid Sam would melt away right in front of him.

There was a feeling of wonderment in the way Dean kept kissing him that nearly broke Sam’s heart. So there was truth in what the Shapeshifter had said. Not all of it, and not quite the way he’d said it, but some parts were clearly true. He had abandoned Dean, even though that was not the real reason why he’d left, and he had created a wellspring of fear that Dean had hidden from him but not conquered. And the other part that was now obvious… Dean did need him, needed his love in a way that Sam would never have imagined. More than just his presence, his company, Dean needed Sam to see him, to acknowledge some small part of what Dean had always given so selflessly. Sam did need to appreciate his brother more. The Shapeshifter was right about that too.

He lowered Dean back onto the bed, lying down alongside him and kissing him a few more times before putting his head down on Dean’s shoulder and pulling him close. Deans’ arms came around him then, holding him in a way he had not felt since he got lost in the woods on a hunt when he was ten, and Dean had finally found him. He was encircled in Dean’s love once more, suddenly more content than he’d been in ages, and it came to him suddenly that letting himself be loved like this was a large part of loving Dean back. This was a message Dean recognized, one that Sam had denied him for so many years. 

“I missed you, Dean,” he murmured into Dean’s neck, as he stroked his arm and breathed in comfort, Dean, and solace. They were one and the same. 

“I missed you too, Sammy,” Dean whispered, leaning his head into Sam’s and kissing his hair. His voice was strained, but his arms were tender, holding onto Sam like he was the end to a long journey. Dean's grief was quieted now, his panic laid to rest. He felt Sam's body and his own blending together, forming a completeness that he had never known he was chasing.

For the first time he could remember, Dean felt at peace.

 

_\-------- fin --------_


	2. In Limbo

~*~

They must have dozed off, because when Dean came back to himself Sam was breathing slowly and steadily, and submerged into his shoulder. Dean’s arm was slightly numb, but this was so nice—Sam asleep for once, safe and close and unresisting. He pressed his head against Sam’s, the silky feel and clean smell of his hair bringing back memories of so long ago, when they were young and they were everything to each other. How could it have gotten so bad that Sam left them—left Dean—to move clear across the country and start over, like they had no past, like they meant nothing? Why wasn’t Dean able to stop it?

He breathed in those lost memories, wound through with the scent of Sam’s hair, and it came back to him, what it had been like before the loneliness started choking the life out of him and he stopped wondering when the hunt would end and started wondering when it would finish him instead. Being a family, no matter where they were and what they were doing, had stopped being enough for Sam. He became sullen, then angry, until it seemed that when Sam and Dad weren’t fighting they were clouding the air with tension. Dean had been adrift in indecision all that time, putting on a good front—all swaggering confidence and quick sarcasm—but there had been nothing and no-one to cling to. Whether it was with his distant father, his sad and angry brother, or the nameless women he charmed, Dean was always alone, by himself or in a crowded room. He had missed Sam so much in those last four years, and after Sam came back… he missed him still. They remembered everything about teasing and squabbling, but closeness had to be weathered and won all over again. Dean had never been good at that, had never had any reason to try before Sam left. Their closeness just _was._ Now, he had no idea where to even begin. 

He stroked Sam’s hair gently, enjoying the feeling of Sam pillowed against him, the comfort of knowing that, at this moment, he made Sam feel safe. 

What would happen when Sam awoke was another story. The Shapeshifter had tortured Sam—violated him, Dean was sure. Would his face, his touch, just bring all of that back? And if it did… would he be forced to let Sam go again just to keep him in one piece? Dean pushed that thought down, back to the darkness it had come from. He could not lose Sam again. Too much of himself would go with him.

Sam stirred slightly against him, and Dean looked over. The towel had slipped off of Sam’s hip long ago, and at the sight of that naked flank, legs entwined with his own, Dean had to bite his lip and turn away. That visual suggestion of intimacy had already made an impression, and he squirmed a little against the uncomfortable hardness. Suddenly Sam’s hair felt too soft, his skin too warm, his scent too heady, and Dean was overtaken by a massive pheromone rush. He tried to pull out from under Sam as smoothly as possible, but Sam roused enough to burrow into him and groan a little in protest. 

Dean stilled, and stared up at the ceiling. He was trapped. If he woke Sam up it could trigger off a really awkward conversation… or things could head in a completely different direction. There was no way to predict which way it would go. And he had to admit, he had some significant emotional investment in the outcome. So he was stuck. Waiting for Sam to wake up, waiting to see what evolved. He was so afraid of making the wrong move that all he could do was lie back and see how things played out.

In spite of all he had seen in his years, Dean generally thought of himself as a guarded optimist. Things had mostly turned out all right so far, over the long haul. Sometimes it was a really, _really_ long haul until they did. But remembering Sam kissing him just hours ago, and how everything had finally felt so right for once—as if his soul was lifting out of his body… for this possibility that he wanted so badly, Dean was not brave enough to let hope begin to rise. 

So there he was. Not hoping, not really. Just waiting and watching for Sam to make the first move.


	3. Transparent

~*~

Sam’s head finally lifted slightly and he smiled at Dean, and that was the _last_ thing in the world Dean expected. He’d watched Sam wake up hundreds of times, and on occasion they were even wound around each other just like this. But Sam had always casually pulled back. It was never a complete rejection, but there was always the feeling that he was undoing a mistake, that it wasn’t quite where he wanted to be.

Sam’s smile right now was so full, so accepting, that Dean was afraid to move lest he shatter some kind of spell. 

Sam’s fingertips brushed over Dean’s shoulder gently, and then his attention was drawn to his own skin, exposed and slightly chilling in the air.

“So, were you trying to have your wicked way with me while I slept?” Sam teased.

Dean sputtered out a denial. “No! I—No! I would never do that!”

Sam laughed, and ducked his head, leaning into Dean’s neck. “It’s all right Dean, relax—really.” Sam’s fingers brushed Dean’s throat as he looked up at him again. “I didn’t say I minded,” he pointed out.

“What?” Dean heard the squeak in his own voice, and winced. Why was it so easy for Sam to make him feel like a complete idiot?

“I might need some psycho from the legions of hell to point it out to me, but I’m not completely blind now to what’s going on.”

Dean’s mind struggled with the distraction of Sam’s body against his, and the intense look Sam was giving his lower lip. “What do you mean, what’s going on?”

“Well…” Sam rocked his hip against Dean, making contact with the erection Dean had hoped was long gone. “This, for instance.”

“Um,” Dean began hopelessly, searching for inspiration, and why was Sam looking at him now like he was the cutest thing ever?

When Sam’s mouth suddenly covered his own, Dean stopped caring about details and dignity and everything else. His body became one with the long moan that was stretching out of him at this touch. Sam’s thumb gently caressed Dean’s lip as he kissed through it, through Dean and they lost themselves in each other.

Sam’s mouth moved down to Dean’s neck, nuzzling, nipping and sucking at the skin there while Dean forgot to move. The hand opening his jeans and sliding inside brought him back in a hurry, and he grabbed Sam’s wrist. 

“Wait,” Dean said breathlessly. “I don’t want you rushing into anything. Not after what happened. We should slow down, take it easy.” He looked down into Sam’s eyes, searching for any signs of uncertainty. “You have to be sure this is what _you_ want. Not just what you think I want.”

Sam’s laughter was not the answer Dean expected. “Dean. I’m practically naked here. I’ve been sucking on your tongue, and I’m halfway to jerking you off. Do you seriously think I’m confused about what’s going on?”

“Well okay, no,” Dean said. “I just want to be sure you won’t regret this later.”

Sam’s hand stroked Dean through his jeans, and Dean nearly swallowed his own tongue.

“Dude? Not looking for a Dr. Phil moment here. Shut up.” And Sam’s kiss silenced Dean’s words, his doubts and his thoughts.

Sam had pushed down the jeans, and was grasping Dean now, stroking and pulling while his tongue worshipped Dean’s mouth. The hand on his back warmed and caressed Sam’s naked skin, and the hand pushing on his ass was pulling the towel out between them. Dean guided Sam on top of him, trapping their hardness between them, and the clumsy friction swept through Sam like a jolt. This was the single hottest thing that had ever happened to him, and he gathered Dean up against him, kissing him, thrusting against his belly and rubbing them both together.

The little noises Dean was making into his mouth tore through Sam, and then he was spilling all over Dean’s stomach, warming the space between them with a slick and luxuriant heat. 

And then the feeling of that tight, _wet_ pressure made Dean bite down on Sam’s lip as he climaxed suddenly, his arms trapping Sam against him. “Oh, Sammy… Sammy” Dean breathed, and his own name floated back to him as the world fell away.


	4. To The Victor Go The Spoils

~*~

The brush of lips across his cheek brought Dean around again, like light filtering through fog. His eyes drifted open. Sam’s head was pillowed next to his own, and his smile was gentle. 

“Are you back now?” Sam’s fingers brushed Dean’s cheek.

Dean leaned his head into Sam’s, surrounding him with his arms and holding him in quiet happiness. His fingers slid up to stroke through Sam’s hair and Dean kissed his forehead with unguarded tenderness.

“Does that happen often?” Sam asked.

“What?” Dean’s voice was low and lazy.

“That fading-out thing. Is that a regular event?”

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. 

“Well damn,” Sam said. “I’m _good._ ” He nuzzled in closer, mouth on Dean’s neck.

The hand on his head stilled Sam, and he glanced up.

Dean looked uncertain. “Do we need to talk about this?” he said softly.

“Not unless you regret it,” said Sam.

“Oh,” Dean said. “Well in that case, I’ve got nothing to say.”

“Thank god. I’ve got plans for that mouth.” 

They kissed languidly for awhile, exploring this new method of speaking without words. After awhile, the room cooled and Sam began to shiver.

“Think I better get some clothes on.” Sam pulled himself up and cast about for something to wear.

“Wasn’t complaining.” Dean’s gaze swept up and down that loose-limbed body, and Sam heaved a pillow at him in response.

“You’re such a perv,” Sam grinned, pulling on a shirt and jeans.

“And you love every minute of it.”

Dean sat up and rubbed his eyes while Sam put his shoes on. He knew what was coming next.

“You know we have to go back,” Sam said quietly. “Finish the job.”

“Yeah, I know.” Part of him wanted to hunt down and torch the fucker for what he’d done to Sam, and the other part just wanted to get them both as far away from here as possible.

“Just give me a little head start.” Sam had his jacket on and a pistol shoved in his back pocket. “I’m going to lure him out.”

Dean felt a chill slip under his stomach, but he just nodded. He packed a gun with hollow-point bullets and another with rock salt as backup. He approached Sam cautiously, but Sam hugged him without reservation. 

“Take it slow,” Dean warned him, running his hand down the side of Sam’s face. 

Sam kissed him one last time in response. “Don’t be late,” he said. And then he was gone.

It was at Rebecca’s house where Sam found the Shapeshifter again, and he braced himself for the inevitable assault. 

A few blows to the stomach later, Sam was on the ground with Dean’s face looming over him. “Back so soon?” the creature taunted. “Just can’t resist that brotherly love, can you? Too bad your brother’s too chicken to ask for what he wants. Could have saved you both some lonely nights on the road all those years ago.” He head-butted Sam, and then ran his tongue over Sam’s lips. 

“Dean wouldn’t put me in that position,” Sam said, turning his head away.

“He’d put you in any position he could get you in, preferably down on your knees or bent over a table. Your brother is not that noble, Sam. He’d fuck anything that’d caught his eye.” 

Sam struggled underneath the weight of that insinuating body that was thrusting up against him now. “You don’t know shit about Dean,” he said. 

The Shapeshifter sat up and pulled his arm back for a nose-breaking punch. Sam saw the burst of red coming through the creature’s chest even before he heard the gunshot, and he shoved the Shapeshifter off to the side and backed out from underneath it.

Dean lowered the gun, his tortured eyes catching Sam’s as he moved forward to reassure him. Becca appeared then, fawning all over Sam, and Dean gritted his teeth.

 _Now just back up, bitch,_ he thought, wanting to be the one holding Sam instead. But Sam sat there in a daze and let her fall on him, crying and clinging. Dean turned away, unable to watch it, and the sight of his own body confronted him. It filled him with a sense of foreboding, and suddenly he just wanted to get the hell out.

************

They were back on the road later that night, and Sam had been quiet much too long. He was bruised, he’d left a friend behind again… and he’d seen what Dean would look like if anything they hunted ever got the better of them.

Dean could feel all of that and more floating morbidly through the car. He tried to force a little conversation, even throw in a little humor. Anything to get that stricken look off of Sam’s face.

“Too bad we had to leave so soon,” he said, and Sam’s eyes flitted over his way. Dean made his voice as deadpan as possible. “It’s my only chance to attend my own funeral…I hate to miss it.”

The joke was met with silence, and Sam’s glare showed what a mistake that had been. 

“Sorry,” Dean said. 

The mood in the car was even worse now than before. Dean let it be this time, keeping his eyes on the road while lost in his own thoughts. 19.2 miles later he pulled out an Aerosmith tape, waving it at Sam in question. Sam motioned him on, and he put the tape in, hands tapping on the steering wheel for the remainder of Side B. 

There were a few minutes of silence afterward before Sam finally said something. 

"You know, some of the things he said…" Sam began, "You can be such a dick sometimes."

Dean was incredulous. "He said them! Not me. I didn't say any of it!"

"But you know you're thinking stuff like that half the time," Sam persisted.

"Maybe some of it I might be thinking, but not all of it. And I still didn't say it."

Sam looked thoughtful. "I always used to think there was absolutely no filter between your brain and your mouth, but I must have been wrong. Now that I've seen how bad it could actually get."

Dean's eyes slid over, and Sam's smile was three parts evil and five parts fun.

He relaxed a little. "You just like yanking my chain, don't you?"

There was a wicked sparkle in Sam's eyes then, and his smile grew bigger. "Is that an invitation?"

Dean's brain stopped working for about two seconds, and then he stepped on the gas. There was a turnoff up ahead, and a grove of trees down off the side road it led to.

He glanced over at Sam, car bouncing up the offramp.

"Absolutely." 

And then they both knew that it was going to be all right.

 

_\-------- fin --------_


End file.
